


A Study In Violet

by AdmiralPrower



Series: A Study In Violet [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Violet Evergarden (Anime)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26408632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdmiralPrower/pseuds/AdmiralPrower
Summary: After finding herself unable to contend with living with her adoptive family, Violet is offered the opportunity to live with an acquaintance of ex-Lieutenant Colonel Hodgins and the Major. Their new Leiden address: 221B Bacher Street
Series: A Study In Violet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919455
Kudos: 19





	1. Being a reprint of reminiscences of Miss Violet Evergarden, late of the Army

Being a reprint of reminiscences of Miss Violet Evergarden, late of the Army

In the year 1914, I had been discovered by a naval captain named Dietfried Bougainvillea on an island that he had been shipwrecked upon. After a harrowing ordeal, he had brought me to his brother, the Major Gilbert Bougainvillea, who enrolled me in the Army. We fought together for the next four years until we attacked the enemy fortress in the city of Intense, where a hand grenade had shattered my arms. I should have fallen into the hands of the murderous Galdarikians were it not for the efforts of the Major, who had shoved me out of harm’s way at the cost of his own life. Worn with pain and weakness from the prolonged hardships of which I had undergone, I was removed to the base hospital at Enchaine. Here I recovered and received news of the war’s end before being put in the charge of Lieutenant Colonel Hodgins. We traveled to the capital of Leiden, where I had neither kith nor kin. Briefly, it was considered that I might lodge with the Major’s distant relatives, the Evergardens but that was soon determined to be ill-suited for both parties. Despite their generosity I could not see myself in the role of a domestic woman.

On the very day that we came to this joint conclusion, Hodgins had come to collect me. I gave him a short sketch of my experience and had hardly concluded it by the time that we began to walk together.

“Poor girl,” Hodgins said, placatingly, after he had listened to my misfortune. “Where would you go next?”

“Wherever there is a place for me.” I answered.

“Well, there was someone today who used about the same expression.” Hodgins remarked.

“Who?” I inquired.

“A young man who was working at the chemical laboratory up in the hospital. He was moaning this morning about it because he could not get someone to go in halves with him in some nice rooms that he had found, and which seemed too much for his purse.”

“If he really wants someone to share a home with, I could try it.” I said.

Hodgins looked rather strangely at me after coming to a stop. “You don’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; “perhaps you would not care for him as a companion.”

“Why?”

“He is a little strange in his ideas, an enthusiast for some branches of science. As far as I know he is a decent gentleman though.”

“What is he studying?” said I.

“I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he’s well up in anatomy and I hear he’s a first-class chemist; but as far as I’ve heard, he never took any medical classes. His studies are odd, but he has collected a lot of general knowledge. He is not a man that is easy to talk to, though he can be communicative when the mood comes to him.”

“I want to meet him,” I said. “If he likes to keep things quiet, it may help. How could I meet him?”

“He’s likely at the laboratory,” Hodgins advised. “We’ll go there after lunch.”

As we made our way to the hospital, Hodgins gave me more particulars about the man who I might end up living with.

“You must not blame me if you do not get along with him,” Hodgins said; “I know nothing more of him than what I have learned from meeting him occasionally. You suggested this, so don’t hold me responsible.”

“If we don’t get along I will find something else,” I said. “Is there something wrong?”

“It is not easy to say,” he answered with a laugh. “Holmes is a bit too clinical for my tastes, almost cold-blooded,” He froze looking back into my eyes. “I could see him giving you a pinch of the latest poison, not out of cruelty but simply to see what its effects are. Though he’d likely do it to himself first in fairness to him. He seems to seek concrete and definite knowledge. Though it takes a strange shape, especially beating the corpses in the morgue with a stick.”

“Beating the corpses? But they’re already dead.”

“Yes, to verify how far bruises come about after death.”

“Why?”

“I do not know what his studies are gearing towards. But form your own ideas about him.” We went through a small side door into a great wing of the hospital. Hodgins led me up a stone staircase and down a long corridor with whitewashed walls and brownish-grey doors. Near the end, a low arched hallway branched off from it and led to the laboratory.

It was filled with bottles. Low tables were scattered throughout with all sorts of equipment. There was only one person in the room, who was bent over a table and absorbed in his work. At the sound of our approach, he looked around and sprang to his feet with a small cry of pleasure. “I’ve found it! I’ve found it,” he shouted to Hodgins, running towards us with a tube in his hand. “I have found a reagent that reacts to haemoglobin and nothing else.” He seemed to resemble the Major when he came upon an advantage.

“Miss Violet Evergarden, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” Hodgins introduced us.

“How are you?” Holmes said cordially, gripping my metal right hand. “You have been in the war, I perceive.”

“How did you know?” I asked, astonished.

“Never mind,” the man gave a small laugh. “The question now is about haemoglobin. No doubt you see the significance of my discovery of mine?”

“I don’t understand.” I answered truthfully.

“Why Miss Evergarden, it is the most practical medical-legal discovery for years. Don’t you see it gives an infallible test for blood stains? Come over here now, this requires demonstration.” He seized my sleeve and drew me over to the table where he had been working. “Let us have some fresh blood-“ I prepared to take my shoe off but he waved his hand, instead opting to prick his finger, drawing the drop that came into a pipette. “Now I add this to a litre of water. The proportion of blood cannot be more than one a million, but-“ He threw some white crystals into the tube and drops of a transparent fluid. Soon the contents turned brown and a dust of the same colour drew down to the bottom of the jar.

“Ha!” Holmes cried, clapping his hands and looking at me. “What do you think of that?”

“It worked?” I asked.

“Beautiful! The old testing methods were clumsy and uncertain. So was examining stains for blood corpuscles by microscope. A microscope is no use if the stains are a few hours old. This works whether the blood is old or new, had this been found sooner then there are hundreds of men and women who would have paid for their crimes. Criminal cases are hanging on that one point. A person is suspected of a crime perhaps months after commission. Their clothes are examined and a brown stain is found. Blood, mud or rust? There was no reliable test to determine what of them it would be until now.”

His eyes glittered and he bowed as if he was before a crowd.

“Congratulations.” I remarked, the animated way that this man talked about blood and crime was surprising.

“There was the case of Von Walther at Oberberg last year. He certainly would have been hung had this test been in existence. Then there was Steiner of Breitfurt and the notorious Schleifer, and Hutten of Genetrix. I could name a score of cases in which it would have been decisive.”

“You seem like a walking calendar of crime,” Hodgins laughed. “You might start a periodical on those lines, call it ‘Police News of the Past’.”

“Very interesting reading it might have been,” Sherlock Holmes retorted, sticking plaster over the wound on his finger. “I have to be careful,” he explained to me, “for I dabble with poisons a good deal.” He held out his hand and I noticed it had other pieces of plaster on it.

“We came here on business,” Hodgins interjected, sitting on a stool. “Violet wants to take up a new home, and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go in halves with you, I thought to bring you two together.”

“I have an eye on a suite in Bächer Street,” Holmes said. “Which would suit us well. You don’t mind the smell of tobacco, do you?”

“I don’t mind,” I answered.

“That’s fine. I generally have chemicals out and do experiments. Would that annoy you?”

“Annoy me?”

“Would it bother you?” Holmes pressed.

“No.”

“Let me see, what are my other shortcomings? I get in the dumps at times, and don’t speak for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just leave me alone and I’ll be fine. What do you have to confess now? It’s just as well for two flatmates to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together?”

“I sometimes have nightmares and I have to use a typewriter to write since I have problems holding a pen.” I admitted. “I don’t like loud noises because of the war.”

“Do you consider violin playing as one of those loud noises?” he asked, anxiously.

“I’ve never heard a violin,” I said, blinking.

“Oh that’s all right, I suppose we may consider this settled.” Holmes brightened.

“When shall we see them?” I asked.

“Once I am done putting these chemicals away in fact.” He offered his hand, which I carefully took, then released before being led out by Hodgins.

“How did he know I was in the war?” I asked.

“That’s just one of his little peculiarities. Even the Major wanted to know how he found things out.” Hodgins said. “Study him if you’d like. But I’d bet he learns more about you than you about him. Will you be alright if I leave you here?”

“Yes, if that is your order.” I looked back towards the door, waiting for my new acquaintance.


	2. The Science of Induction

We met soon after he finished cleaning as he had arranged, and proceeded to look at the rooms at 221B Bächer Street. They had a set of two comfortable bedrooms and a large sitting room, already set with furniture with sunlight coming through two large windows. Between our stipends, we came to an agreement with the landlady, one Mrs. Hudson and moved in. As I only had my typewriter and clothing, I collected them from the Evergarden home. On the next morning I helped Sherlock Holmes with several boxes and we worked together to unpack and lay out their contents.

Holmes was not as difficult as a man to live with as Hodgins suggested. He was quiet and his activities were regular. If I were to report as if to the Major, I would advise that it would have been rare for Holmes to be up after ten o’clock at night, and he had eaten breakfast and went out before I woke in the morning. Sometimes he went to the hospital or on long walks, which seemed to take him all throughout Leiden. When he felt like working, he was like a spring in action. Now and again sometimes he would lie upon the sofa and hardly say a thing or move. As the days went by, my curiosity about him intensified. His appearance was striking, over six feet in height and rail-thin to where it made him seem even taller. His eyes were sharp and his nose was beak-like, making him look like one of the sentries that guarded the camps. His hands were covered in ink and chemical stains but he had considerably better precision with his hands than what I could ever achieve.

Because I hated to go out in bad weather and I had no one to really visit outside of Hodgins, I focused on trying to unravel the mystery of Sherlock Holmes. He was not a medical student, confirming that when asked. He wasn’t a practising scientist either, but he had specialist knowledge in various fields. On the other hand, he was also ignorant on certain things as well, such as the nature of the solar system and the stars which the Major had taught me about over the course of a few quiet nights in the field.

“It surprises you, but now that you tell me about it, I shall forget it.” Holmes declared.

“Why would you forget it?!”

“I consider that the human brain is like a little attic or footlocker, and you have to stock it with what you can choose deliberately. A foolish soldier takes in every trinket that they come across, so what is useful has no room to go inside, or it’s so badly organised that one has difficulty in getting important items out. The smart and proper soldier is careful about what they take into their footlocker. Nothing but the tools that will help them in their work, all in order. The brain is not elastic.”

“But the solar system!” I blinked.

“What is it to me? You say that we go around the sun, if we go around the moon it would not make any difference to me or my work!” Holmes interrupted.

I was about to ask him what that work might be but with the way he responded, it seemed like that would not be wise. I thought over our short conversation and tried to draw conclusions from it. He said that he would acquire no knowledge which was not relevant to his work. So all the knowledge which he had was what was useful to him. While he was away at one point, I sat before my typewriter and started to type out the following list:

Sherlock Holmes: His Limits

1.Knowledge of Literature: Unknown

2.Knowledge of Philosophy: Unknown

3.Knowledge of Astronomy: None

4.Knowledge of Politics: Unknown

5.Knowledge of Botany: Well read in plants connected to medical purposes and poisons. Actual gardening on the other hand escapes him.

6.Knowledge of Geology: Can tell the difference between different soils at first sight. After walks he has shown me stains on his trousers and told me by their colour and other properties where in Leiden he had gotten them.

7.Knowledge of Chemistry: Profound

8.Knowledge of Anatomy: Profound

9.Knowledge of Crime & Melodramas: He appears to know every detail of every horror performed in the century, if not longer.

10.Knowledge of Law: Good practical knowledge

11.Plays the violin very well, or at least to my thoughts.

12.An expert hand-to-hand fighter, boxer and swordsman

When I got far enough in the list, I ended up crumpling it up and tossing it into the fire, frustrated. If I could find out what Holmes was driving at with these knowledges, and figure out what job needed them all. I might as well give up while I was still ahead. But let me circle back to the violin. I had never heard a violin before, but I did know of some pieces of music which he played at my request and it certainly sounded correct. But on his own, he did not improvise any new pieces. Leaning back in his chair in an evening, he would just close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the violin which was laying across his knee. Sometimes the music sounded sour, in others rather energetic. I think they reflected the thoughts and emotions which possessed him, which still gave him a considerable advantage over me. I only knew melancholy which I could pick out. I don’t know whether they aided his thinking or whether it was just a random event. It didn’t bother me anyways.

During the first week or so, we had no visitors and I had thought that he might have had as little friends as I did. But I recently found that he knew many people in different classes of society. There was a strange, rat-faced, dark-eyed man who was introduced to me as Mr. Lestrade, who came three or four times a week. One morning, there was a well-dressed red-haired girl who stayed for a half an hour or more. On another occasion there was a white-haired gentleman present for an interview and on another, a railway porter. He would beg for use of the sitting room and I would go to my bedroom, afterwards always getting an apology for the inconvenience: “I have to use the room as a place of business, and these people are my clients.” Here I had another opportunity to ask him directly what he did but I kept quiet. I thought he might have had some extreme reason not to explain but soon we finally came around to the subject.

It was on the 4th of März, I remember this because I woke up earlier than normal and found Holmes had not yet finished his breakfast. Mrs. Hudson was so used to my late habits that my place had not been laid out, nor had my coffee. I rang the bell and indicated that I was ready, then took a magazine from the table, opening it up to pass the time as I waited, while Holmes chewed quietly on his toast. One of the articles had a mark at the heading and I began to run his eye through it. Its title was “The Book of Life” and it was making the attempt to show how an observant person might learn by a complete examination of all things that came in his way. It seemed to be a mixture of shrewd and absurd at the same time. The writer claimed that by a slight expression, a twitch or a glance of an eye, to be able to understand a person’s inner thoughts. Deception was impossible to experience in the case of one trained in observation and analysis. 

“From a drop of water,” said the article writer, “a logician could infer the possibility of a great sea without having seen or heard of one or the other. So all life is a great chain, the nature of which is known whenever we are shown a single link of it. Like all other arts, the Science of Induction and Analysis is one which can only be acquired by long patient study, nor is life long enough to allow any mortal to attain the highest possible perfection in it. Before turning to those moral and mental aspects of the matter which present the greatest difficulties, let the inquirer begin by mastering more elementary problems. Let them, on meeting a fellow person, learn at a glance to distinguish the history of that person, and the trade or professional that they belong to. Puerile as such an exercise may seem, it sharpens the faculties of observation and teaches one where to look and what to look for. By one’s fingernails, by their coat-sleeve, their shoe, trouser knee, calluses, expression and shirt cuffs, a person’s calling is plainly revealed. That all united should fail to enlighten the competent inquisitor in any case is almost inconceivable.”

“I’ve never read such rubbish in my life!” I said out loud, slapping the magazine down on the table.

“What is it?” Holmes asked, sitting up.

“This article,” I pointed to it after re-opening the magazine with a metal finger. “I see you’ve read it since you’ve marked it. It’s well written but-” My fingers tensed. “-it’s irritating. Someone sitting in their armchair thought of this in their study but I don’t see it working. I would like to see the writer in the middle of a third-class train car and give the details on each rider. I would lay my month’s stipend against them.”

“You would lose your money, Violet.” Holmes remarked calmly. “As for the article, I wrote it.”

“You!”

“Yes, I have a turn both for observation and induction. The theories which I laid out here and which appear to you to be so impossible are very practical. Practical enough that I depend on them for my rent and bread.”

“How?” I asked almost automatically.

“Well, I have a job of my own. I suppose I am the only one. I am a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is. Here in Leiden, we have official and private detectives. When they can’t make heads or tails of a case, they come to me and I put their train on the right track. They bring the evidence before me, and I am generally able to set them straight with my knowledge. There is a strong family resemblance about crime, and if you know the details of a thousand crimes and have that information at your fingertips, you can figure out the thousand and first. Lestrade is a well-known official detective, he got himself confused over a forgery case and that was what brought him here.”

“And the others?”

“They are mostly sent on by private agencies, all people who have trouble with something and want some enlightenment. I listen to their story, they listen to my comments and I pocket my fee.”

“You’re telling me that without leaving here, you can figure out a crime that others cannot?” I asked.

“Yes, I have an intuition about these things. Now and then I have to go around and see things with my own eyes with a more complex case. I apply special knowledge to the problem which brings things to a close wonderfully. Those rules of induction which you scorned are invaluable to me. Observation is second nature to me. You were surprised when I told you that you had come from the war.”

“Hodgins told you, no doubt.”

“Not at all! I _knew_ you came from the war. The train of thought ran so quickly that I came to it without knowing about the intermediate steps. There were steps though, here’s how it ran: ‘Here is a woman, well dressed but with the air of a soldier. Clearly she served in the war. She had recently come from the field as the finish on her hands has not darkened and her clothes are kept in a way beyond the norm even for high society. She has undergone hardship and sickness as her face says clearly. She holds her arms in a stiff and unnatural manner, suggesting they are new. Where could a woman have seen such hardship and lost both arms? Clearly in the war.’ The whole journey did not take more than a second. I remarked you came from the war and you were surprised.”

It was simple enough as he explained it. I walked over to the window, and stood looking out into the busy street. He was very clever, but also excessively proud of himself.

“There are no crimes and no criminals these days,” Holmes said, grumbling. “What is the use of having brains in our profession? I know well I have it in me to make my name famous. No person lives or has ever lived who has brought the same amount of study and of natural talent to the detection of crime which I have done. And what is the result? No crime, or at most, some bungling issue with a motive so transparent that even an official detective can see through it.”

“I wonder what that person is looking for.” I asked, pointing to a blond-haired man who was flashily dressed, walking slowly down the other side of the street, looking anxiously at the numbers. He had a large blue envelope in his hand and was evidently the bearer of a message.

“You mean the private postman of the CH Postal Company,” said Sherlock Holmes.

Irritating yet again, I thought. I can’t verify his guess. But then the man that we were watching caught sight of the number on our door and ran rapidly across the roadway, avoiding a carriage. We heard a loud knock and soon steps ascended the stairs.

“For Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” The man said, stepping into the room and handing him the envelope. Here was an opportunity to take the wood out of his fire.

“May I ask what you do?” I asked in a neutral voice.

“Postman, ma’am,” he said, bluntly. “CH Postal Company. Uniform away for cleaning. No answer? Right ma’am.” He turned away and was gone as I gave a slightly malicious glance at Sherlock, who opened the letter and read it over before folding it up and placing it in a pocket. He immediately went over to a small filing cabinet and sat down in front of it.

“My singular gift for observation and deduction might have come from my grandmother, who was a sister of Vernet, the artist. The art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.” Holmes explained as he reorganised his papers while sitting on the floor. “For example, my brother Mycroft-”

“Your brother?” I stepped forward. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Oh yes,” Holmes said, looking up at me. “and I can assure you that he possesses a far greater faculty for observation and deduction than I do.” He opened one of his ledgers to peer down at it.

“Holmes, you seem to be a modest man-” I started as Holmes snapped the ledger shut and laughed sharply.

“My dear Evergarden, I cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues. To the logician, all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to underestimate one's self is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own ability. What I have just told you about my brother is the exact and literal truth.” Holmes set the ledger down.

“Well naturally I do not doubt your word, but if there is another man in Leidenschaftlich with such powers, then how is it that the police and the public have never heard of him, let alone myself?” I asked. Holmes rose up to settle down in one of his chairs, taking up his pipe.

“Oh he’s very well known, in his own circles.” he said, lighting it.

“Where then?”

“The Diogenes Club, it is the oddest club in Leiden and my brother, one of the oddest men.” He closed his eyes and turned his head to face me while inhaling. “I suppose you wish to meet him.”

“Well of course I do! Even if it is just to prove he exists.” I narrowed my eyes.

“Then you shall, this afternoon. He has come across the most singular problem which he thinks might interest me.”


	3. The Bauer-Nordenfelt Plans (Part 1)

**The Bauer-Nordenfelt Plans**

A few minutes later we were in the street, walking towards the Regelkreis.

“You wonder,” said Holmes, “why is it that Mycroft does not use his powers for detective work. He is not capable of it.”

“I thought you had said-”

“I said that he was my superior in observation and induction. If the art of the detective began and ended in an armchair, my brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But he has no ambition or energy. He will not go out of his way to verify his own resolutions, and would rather be considered wrong than to trouble himself to prove his thoughts right. I have taken a problem to him, and have received and explanation which afterwards proved to be correct. Yet he was absolutely incapable of working out the practical points, which must be gone into before a case could go before a judge or jury.”

“It is not his job, then?” I asked.

“By no means. What is to me a means of work is to him the merest hobby of a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and audits the books in some of the government departments. He lives close to the government centre and walks around the corner every morning and every evening. From year’s end to year’s end he takes no other exercise and is seen nowhere else, except only in the Diogenes which is just across from his rooms.”

“I don’t know anything of it.” I admitted.

“Of course not. There are many in Leiden who from shyness or misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. But they like comfortable chairs and the latest papers. It is for the convenience of both that the Diogenes Club was started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubable in town. No member is permitted to take the least notice of any other one. Except for the Stranger’s Room, no talking is allowed and three offences, if brought to the notice of the committee, render the speaker liable to expulsion. My brother was one of the founders, and I found it to be a very soothing environment.”

We reached the government quarter as we spoke, and were walking down to the St. Jakob’s end. Holmes stopped at a door some little distance away, and cautioning me not to speak, he led the way into the hall. Through glass paneling, I caught a glimpse of a large room, where a considerable amount of people were sitting and reading papers, each in their own nook. Holmes showed me into a small chamber which looked out into the street, and then, leaving me for a moment, he came back with someone whom could only be his brother.

Mycroft Holmes was a larger man than Sherlock. His body was absolutely fat, but his face though massive, had kept some of the sharpness that was much like his brother. His eyes were a light, watery grey, seemed to also keep that far away look that Sherlock had when he was thinking. He gestured for his brother to follow him to the window. 

“Look at those two men, Sherlock. What do you make of them?”

“The billiard marker and the other?”

"Precisely. What do you make of the other?"

The two men that Mycroft referred to were stopped opposite of the window. Some chalk marks over the waistcoat pocket were seen in one. I had no idea of what it meant. The other was a small, dark fellow, with his hat pushed back and several packages under his arm.

"An old soldier, I perceive," said Sherlock

"And very recently discharged," Mycroft remarked.

"Served in the East, I see."

"And a non-commissioned officer."

“Artillery, I fancy.” said Sherlock

“And a widower."

"With a child."

"Children, my dear boy, children." The larger man gestured with an open hand and guffawed before looking at me. “Mycroft Holmes. Glad to meet you Miss Evergarden.”

“Well thank you.” I bowed.

“For anyone who wishes to study man, this is the spot.” Mycroft gestured towards the window.

“Surely you were taking things a little too far just now though.” I said, a bit incredulous.

"It is not hard to say, Violet, that a man of that bearing and expression of authority,” answered the younger Holmes “-and the sunbaked skin, is a soldier, is more than a private, and is not long from the East.”

"That he has not left the service long is shown by his still wearing his ammunition boots, as they call them." Mycroft put in.

"He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side, as is shown by the lighter skin of that side of his brow. His weight is against his being a sapper. He is in the artillery." Sherlock continued.

"Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has lost someone very dear. The fact that he is doing his own shopping looks as though it were his wife. He has been buying things for children, you perceive. There is a rattle, which shows that one of them is very very young. The fact that he has a picture book in his other says that there is another, older.” Mycroft concluded.

I began to understand what Sherlock meant when he said that his brother possessed better faculties than he did. He glanced across at me and smiled. Mycroft opened a tortoise-shell box and walked over to my side.

“By the way, Sherlock,” said Mycroft, “I was able to procure what Colonel Hodgins asked you about, through my contacts in the black market. I believe this is yours, young lady.” He proffered the box to me. Looking down, I saw an emerald green brooch. I recognised it almost immediately, the Major had purchased it for me in a street market. I had chosen it because it reminded me so much of his kind eyes. I bowed down before Mycroft.

“How may I repay you?” I asked, timidly.

“My dear, there is no need for that. It was stolen from you while you served the government’s needs. It is only right that the government restores it to you, gratis.” Mycroft answered. “And Sherlock, I did call you over here for a problem submitted to my judgment. If you would care to hear the facts-”

“My dear brother, I should be delighted.”

“What do you know of the name Albrecht Westen?” Mycroft asked.

“Albrecht Westen, aged twenty-seven, unmarried. He was a clerk at the arsenal. Found dead on the train tracks. It seemed featureless from what I could recall. Apparently he had fallen out of the train. There was no robbery and no particular reason to suspect violence.”

“He left the arsenal suddenly on Montag night. Was last seen by his fiancee, whom he left abruptly in the fog about 7:30 that evening. There was no argument between them and she can give no reason for his actions. The next thing heard of him was when his dead body was discovered just outside Warschauerstrasse on the underground train system in Leiden.”

“When?”

“The body was found at six on Dienstag morning. It was lying wide of the metals on the left hand of the track as one goes east, at a point close to the station, where the line comes from the tunnel in which it runs. The head was crushed, which could have been caused by a fall from the train. The body could have only come on the line in that way. Had it been carried, it would have passed the station barriers, where a collector is standing. This seems certain.”

“The case seems definite enough. Westen, dead or alive, either fell or was dropped from a train. So much is clear to me, continue.”

“The trains which travel on the lines beside the body are those that run west to east, some being purely for the city, some leaving Leiden and going to outlying junctions. The young man was traveling east at some late hour of the night, but when he came onto the train, it would be impossible to say. There was no ticket in his pocket.”

“No ticket! Brother mine, this is very singular. According to my experience, it is not possible to get onto a train without showing a ticket. The man had one. Was it taken from him? It is possible. Or did he drop it on the train itself? That is also possible. Curious. There was no sign of robbery?”

“His purse carried four marks and fifty-six pfennings. He also had a checkbook for the Leiden Capital Bank. Through this, his identity was established. There were also two dress-circle tickets for the Spandau Theatre, dated for that very evening. Also technical papers. That is the cause of the real crisis. I have never seen the Chancellor so upset, as for the Naval High Command, it is buzzing like a dropped bee-hive.”

“What were the technical papers?” Sherlock asked.

“It has not come out, the press would be furious if it did. The papers which this Westen had in his pocket were the plans of the Bauer-Nordenfelt submarine.” Mycroft spoke with a solemnity which showed how important the issue was. “Its importance can hardly be exaggerated. One of the most jealously guarded of all government secrets. Naval warfare becomes impossible within the radius of such a submarine’s operation. The plans comprise some thirty separate patents, each integral to the working of the whole thing. They were kept in an elaborate safe in an office adjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and windows. Under no proper circumstances were the plans to be taken from the office. If the chief constructor desired to consult them, even he had to come to the arsenal for the purpose. And yet here they are in the pocket of a dead junior clerk in the heart of Leiden. It’s simply awful.”

“But you have recovered them?”

“No, Sherlock, no! That’s the problem, we have not. Ten were taken from Spandau Arsenal. There were seven in Westen’s pocket. The three most important ones are gone, stolen, vanished! You must drop everything, Sherlock. Never mind your usual petty puzzles. It is a vital international problem that you have to solve. Why did Westen take the papers, where are the missing ones, how did he die? Find an answer to all these questions and you will have done a good service for your country.”

“Why do you not solve it yourself?” I asked.

“It is a matter of getting details. To run here and there, to question railway guards and lie on my face with a glass to my eye, it is just not my thing. No, Sherlock is the one man who can clear the matter up.” Mycroft said. “I have jotted down the most essential details on this sheet of paper, together with a few addresses which you will find of service. The official guardian of the papers is Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea-” That name had a chilling effect upon me. “-a man whose patriotism is beyond suspicion. He is one of two who had a key to the safe. I may add that the papers were in the office during working hours on Montag, and that Captain Bougainvillea left for home at about three o’clock taking his key with him. He was at the house of Admiral Nikolaus during the whole of the evening when the incident occurred.”

“Has this been verified?” Holmes asked.

“Yes; his sister, Valentine Bougainvillea, had testified to his departure from Spandau, and Admiral Nikolaus to his arrival; so Dietfried is no longer a direct factor in the problem.”

“Who was the other with a key?”

“The senior clerk and draughtsman, Mr. Dennis Johnsohn. He is a man of forty, married with five children. A silent man but he has an excellent record in public service. He is unpopular with his co-workers but considered a hard worker. According to his own account, verified at the word of his wife, he was at home the whole of Montag evening after office hours, and his key never left his possession.”

“Tell us about Westen’s working history.”

“He had been ten years in the civil service and did good work. He had the reputation of being hot-headed and imperious, but a straightforward and honest man. We had nothing against him, he was under the senior clerk in authority. His duties brought him into regular contact with the plans.”

“Who locked them up that night?”

“Johnsohn, the senior clerk.”

“Motive, then I presume they were of value?”

“He could have gotten thousands of marks for them very easily.”

“Then that would have to be our working hypothesis. Westen took the papers, perhaps by way of a false key.”

“He would have had to have several to open the buildings and the rooms.”

“He had them, then. Taking the papers into Leiden to sell the secret, intending to have them back in the safe next morning before they were missed. While in Leiden on this treasonable mission, he met his death.”

“How?”

“We will suppose he was travelling back to Spandau when he was killed and thrown out of the compartment.”

“Warschauerstrasse, where the body was found, is considerably past the proper station to route to Spandau.”

“Many circumstances could be imagined to where that could be filled in. As for why he had no ticket, perhaps the ticket would have shown which station was nearest to where the agent to whom he sold the plans to would have been, thus he took it from Westen’s pocket. But if he is dead and the plans are presumably on their way to the other countries, what is there for us to do?”

“They may very well still be in the country, and if that is so, if they can be seized and recovered, we may stave off an enormous disaster. Act, Sherlock. Go to the scene, see everyone concerned. Leave no stone unturned! I will have Lestrade meet you at Warschauerstrasse.”


	4. The Bauer-Nordenfelt Plans - Part II & Conclusion

An hour later, Holmes and I stood upon the railroad at the point where it emerged from the tunnel immediately before Warschauerstrasse Station. The rat-faced Kriminalkommissar Lestrade had a red-faced old man in tow, who represented the railway.

“This is where the man’s body laid,” said the railway man, indicating a spot about three feet from the tracks. “It could not have fallen from above, for these are all windowless walls. It could have only come from a train, and that train, so far as we can trace it, must have passed about midnight on Montag.”

“Have the cars been examined for any sign of violence?”

“None were found along with any sign of a ticket.”

“No doors or windows being found open?”

“None.”

“We had some fresh evidence come this morning,” said Lestrade. “A passenger who passed Warschauerstrasse in an ordinary train about 11:40 Montag evening declared that he heard a heavy thud, as like that of a body hitting the line, just before the train reached the station. There was dense fog though, and nothing could be seen, so he did not make a report at the time. Is there something wrong, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes was standing with an expression of intense thought on his face, staring at the tracks where they curved out of the tunnel. Warschauerstrasse looked like a junction, similar to ones that I had seen before in the field, and there was a network of points. On those points, his eyes were fixed. Soon his lips tightened, nostrils quivered and brows knit.

“Points,” Holmes muttered; “the points.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I suppose there are no large number of points on a system such as this?”

“No; there are only a few.” The railway man said.

“And a curve too, points and a curve. If it were only so.”

“What is it? Have you found something?” Lestrade asked.

“Just an idea, no more than that. But this case does gain interest as I see it. It’s very unique, because I do not see any blood on the line.”

“There was hardly any!” Lestrade remarked.

“But it was a considerable wound.” Holmes countered.

“The bone was crushed but there was no great external injury.”

“There would have still been bleeding.” I put in, having seen such things happen in the battlefields. I inflicted a good deal of such things not so long ago, whether with my fists, a rifle or a blunt instrument at hand.

“Would it be possible for me to examine the train which had the passenger who apparently heard the fall?” Holmes asked.

“I’m afraid not, sir. The train has been broken up before now and the cars were redistributed.” The railway man said apologetically.

“I can assure you that every car has been carefully examined. I saw to it myself!” Lestrade insisted.

“Very likely,” Holmes turned away with exasperation. “As it happens, it was not the cars I wanted to examine. Violet, we have done all we can here. We need not trouble you any further, Kriminalkommissar. I think our investigations will call for me to go to Spandau.”

Soon Holmes wrote a telegram to his brother, which he handed off to me for dispatch via the nearest CH Postal Company substation. It said thus:

 _See some light in the darkness, but it may possibly flicker out. Meanwhile, please send by messenger, to await return at Bacher Street, a complete list of all known foreign spies or international agents known to be in_ _Leidenschaftlich with full address. Sherlock._

“That should be very helpful, Miss Evergarden,” Holmes remarked as we took our seats in a Spandau-bound train. “I certainly owe my brother a small debt for having introduced me to something to break the spell of boredom.”

His face wore an expression of intense energy. He looked almost like a hound that ran upon a scent. He was different from the lounger in the mouse-coloured dressing gown who was so restless only a few hours before.

“There is something here, there is scope,” he continued. “I am stupid to have not understood its possibilities.”

“I don’t quite understand it myself.” I admitted.

“The result escapes me for now, but I have hold of one idea which may take us somewhere. Westen died somewhere else and his body was on the roof of one of those train cars.”

“On the roof?!” But then I thought about it. If the body was on the roof, if there had been a straight tracking path from the point where the body would have been dropped, it would likely fall off with considerable jostling. Either it fell from the roof or a low-probability event occurred. And if Westen was killed elsewhere, that would explain the lack of blood on the line, as well as the lack of a ticket!

“It makes excellent sense!” I blurted out. “Everything fits together that way.”

“Perhaps, perhaps.” Holmes said with a nod, noticing the animation on my face. He was silent afterwards until the train drew up in Spandau Station. Then he called a cab and drew the paper that Mycroft gave him from his pocket.

“We have a little round of calls to make,” said Holmes. “I think that Captain Bougainvillea would be first to attend to.”

The house of that familiar man was a fine villa with a lawn that stretched towards the river. As we reached it, the fog was lifting and a thin, watery sunshine was breaking through. A butler answered our ring.

“I’m afraid Captain Dietfried is not taking visitors.” The butler said with a solemn face. “He has been beside himself since this morning.”

“Perhaps I could see his sister, Valentine Bougainvillea?” Holmes gestured with his paper.

“I think she would see you, yes.”

We were ushered into a dimly-lit drawing room, when we were soon joined by a black-haired woman of her early twenties, the youngest sibling of the three. Of them, she was the one least spoken of between the Major and the Captain. Her wild eyes and unkempt hair all spoke of some stress, and she was hardly articulate as she spoke of the matter.

“It was this horrible scandal,” Valentine said. “My brother, well my remaining brother, was a man of very sensitive honor. He could not survive such an affair, especially having lost Gilbert so recently. He was always proud of the efficiency of his department and now this is a crushing blow.”

“We had hoped that he might have given us some insight which would have helped us to clear the issue up.” Holmes said.

“I assure you it was as much a mystery to him as it is to you and all of us. He already put all of his knowledge at the disposal of your brother. Naturally he had no doubt that Westen was guilty, but the rest was inconceivable! I know nothing new about it myself, except for what I have read or heard. I have no desire to be rude, Mr. Holmes, but we are much disturbed at present and I must ask you to conclude this interview.” She gave me a scathing look.

“This is indeed an unexpected development,” Holmes said once we got into a new cab. “Now we shall turn to what Westen’s family might be able to tell us.”

A small but well-kept house in the outskirts of Spandau sheltered the bereaved family. Westen’s mother was too struck by grief to be any of use, but a pale faced young lady who introduced herself as the fiancee of the dead man and the last person to see him upon that fatal night spoke up to me.

“I cannot explain it, Miss Evergarden,” she said. “I have not slept since the tragedy, thinking night and day what the truth could be. Albrecht was the most patriotic man in the country. He would have cut his right hand off before he would sell a secret confided to him. It is impossible to consider that by anyone who knew him.”

“But the facts, ma’am?”

“Yes, they certainly look bad and I cannot explain them.”

“Did he ever need money?” I asked.

“No; his needs were simple and his salary more than took care of them. He saved a good deal and we were to marry at the new year.”

“No sign of anything disturbing him?” Holmes asked. “Be absolutely frank with us. I noticed some change in her manner as she hesitated and her cheeks reddened.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I had a feeling that something was bothering him. Only for the last week or so, he was worried about something connected to work. But he also said it was too serious for him to talk about, even to me. Once or twice it seemed like he was going to say something, one evening he spoke about its importance of what he was working on and that there was no doubt foreign spies would pay a considerable sum to have it. He said we were slack about such things, that it would be easy for a traitor to get to those plans.”

“Was it only recently that he was speaking in this manner?” I asked.

“Quite recently.” she replied. “We were to go to the theatre yesterday. The fog was so thick that a cab was useless, so we walked. When we got close to the arsenal, he darted away into the fog. I waited but he never returned after a time. So I walked home. Next morning after the office opened, people came to inquire. Then about noon we heard the terrible news.”

Holmes shook his head sadly.

“Come Violet,” he said. “Our track goes elsewhere. Our next station must be the arsenal where the papers were taken.”

“His coming marriage gives a motive, the idea must have been in his head since he spoke about it. Yet-” Holmes murmured in the cab.

“The way in which she spoke of him suggests otherwise. But then again why would he have left her like that?” I asked.

“There are certainly objections, but it is a formidable case in which they have to meet.”

Mr. Dennis Johnsohn, the senior clerk at the Spandau Aresnal, met us at the office and received us with the respect which I have found that Holmes’ card commanded. He was a thin, gruff man with glasses, a tired face and twitching hands.

“It is very bad, Mr. Holmes. Have you heard of the captain taking leave?”

“We just came from his home.”

“The arsenal is disorganised. Dietfried away, Westen dead, papers stolen. And yet when we closed our doors on Montag evening, we were as efficient if not the most efficient an office as any in the government. To think that Westen, of all, should have done a thing!”

“You are sure of his guilt, then?” Holmes asked.

“I see no other way. And yet I would have trusted him as much as I’d trust my own brother.”

“At what hour did the office close on Montag?”

“Five. I closed it, being the last person out. The plans were in the safe and I put them there myself.”

“Was there any watchman?” Holmes pressed.

“There is, but he has other departments to look after as well. An old soldier and one considered trustworthy. He saw nothing, but then again the fog was thick.”

“Suppose that Albrecht Westen wanted to come into the building after hours, he would have needed three keys to reach the papers, yes?”

“Yes, the key of the outer door, the office and the safe.”

“Only Captain Bougainvillea and yourself had these keys?”

“I only had the safe key, not any of the keys to the doors.”

“Was Captain Dietfried a man of regular habit?”

“Yes,” I put in, getting a nod from Johnsohn.

“I know that so far he kept the keys on the same ring.”

“And that ring went with him to Leiden?”

“He said so.”

“And you never lost your key?”

“Never!”

“Then the junior clerk, if he did it, must have had a duplicate yet none was found on him. One further question: if a clerk wanted to sell the plans, would it have been easier to copy them rather than to take the originals?” Holmes asked.

“It would have taken considerable technical knowledge to do so in an effective way.”

“But I suppose you, Captain Bougainvillea or Westen had that knowledge?”

“No doubt we had, but you wouldn’t want to try to drag me into the matter. What use is it asking this when the originals were found on Westen?”

“Well it is certainly something to note that he should run the risk of taking the originals if he could have taken copies.”

“Yet he seemed to have done so.”

“So far every inquiry reveals something inexplicable. There are three papers still missing, vital ones.”

“That is correct.” Johnson said.

“Would anyone holding those three, without the seven others, be able to construct a submarine of the Bauer-Nordenfelt design?”

“I reported as much to the Naval High Command, but I’ve been over the drawings and I’m not so sure of it. The double valves with the automatic self-adjusting slots are drawn in one of the papers that have been returned. Until the others have invented that for themselves they could not make it in that exact way. Of course they may overcome that obstacle.”

“But the three missing papers are the most important?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.”

“I would like to look around the arsenal if I may.”

With Johnsohn’s blessing, he examined the lock of the safe, the door of the room and the shutters on the window. It was only when we were outside that he seemed to be like the hound upon the scent again. There was a bush outside of the window and several branches on it were twisted or snapped. He examined them with his glass, then some marks on the ground. He asked Johnsohn to close the window shutters and then pointed out to me that they did not meet in the middle. Anyone outside looking up could see what was going on within.

“The issue is ruined by three days of delay. They may mean something or nothing. Well Violet, I do not think we can find anything further here. Let us see if we can do better in Leiden.”

Yet before we fully left Spandau Station, the clerk in the ticket office was able to tell us that Albrecht Westen, who he knew by sight, was on a Leiden bound train that left at 8:15 Montag evening. He was alone and took a single third-class ticket. He was so nervous that he was hardly able to pick up his change and the clerk helped. The timetable said that the 8:15 would have been the first train available for Westen to take after he had left his fiancee at 7:30.

“In reconstruction, Violet.” said Holmes after some silence. “There are layers upon layers to this problem. We largely seemed to be working towards the idea that Westen was the one who stole the plans. But the window and the bush makes me think otherwise. Perhaps an agent from another country approached him but in a way to where he would not speak about it. Let’s say that he caught a glimpse of this agent going towards the arsenal. He seemed spontaneous in his manner, everything giving way to duty. He followed the person, reached the window, saw the documents being taken and pursued the thief. This would explain why no one had made copies, the outsider _had_ to take the originals. So far, so good.”

“So what is the next step?” I asked.

“There are the problems we run into. Under such circumstances, you would think that Westen would have seized them and raised the alarm. Why not? Was it a superior like Captain Bougainvillea? That might explain it. Or did the party give him the slip and Westen took off towards Leiden to head him off somewhere else. It must have been very pressing if he left his fiancee in the fog and said nothing to her. The end result, Westen’s body lying dead on the roof of a train with seven appears in his pocket. If Mycroft has given me the list of addresses I asked for, we might be able to find our receiver.”

Surely enough, a note was waiting for us courtesy of the same man from the CH Postal Company that met us earlier. Holmes glanced at it and threw it over to me:

 _There are numerous small-time players, but few who would handle so big an affair. The only men worth considering are Adolf Sindaco of 13_ _Große Georgestrasse, Luigi Brienne, of Talfelder Mansions, Cnotta Hill; and_ _Ivan Kamenev, 13 Eugengarten,_ _Heimstätte_ _. The latter was known to be in town on Montag and is now reported as being intermittently seen. Glad to hear you have seen some light. I await your final report with much anxiety. Urgent representations have arrived from the highest quarter. The whole force of the state is at your back should you need it._ Mycroft

“I am afraid,” said Holmes, “that all the kaiser’s horses and men cannot avail in this matter.” He spread out a map of Leiden and leaned over it. “Well, well, things are turning in our direction at last. I believe we are going to pull it off after all!” He slapped my shoulder. “I am going out now. Stay here and you will see me again in an hour or two. If you get bored, try a hand at journaling our case on the typewriter here.”

His energy seemed to rub off on me. All the long evening, I waited while trying my hands at the typewriter as he suggested. Yet I also typed with impatience, awaiting his return. Soon another messenger arrived from the CH Postal Company, this time an older man with a white beard.

 _Am dining at a Bociaccian restaurant in_ _Heimstätte near Eugengarten. Please come at once and join me there. Bring with you a crowbar, a dark lantern and the revolver in the drawer._ S.H.

It was nice equipment for a respectable young woman to carry through the dim streets. I stowed them all discreetly away and drove straight to the address given. There sat Holmes at a little table near the door of the garish Bociaccian restaurant.

“Have you had something to eat? Then join me with some coffee and bread. Do you have the tools?”

I nodded, producing them from my jacket.

“Excellent, let me tell you what I have done. Now, it must be evident to you that Westen’s body was placed on the roof of the train. That was clear from the moment I found that it was from the roof and not from the inside of a car that he had fallen.”

“Could he have not been dropped from a bridge?”

“Impossible, if you look at the roofs they are slightly rounded and there was no railing around them. He had to be placed there.”

“How?”

“That's what I needed to find out. There was only one possible way, in the west end there are places where the train system runs clear of tunnels. In fact there are places where there are windows. If a train halted under a window, one could possibly lay a body onto the roof of such a car. When I found that the leading international agent, who was leaving back and forth from Leiden, lived in a row of houses which ran against the train line, he became my objective. I confirmed it after walking along the track. The back-stair window of 13 Eugengarten opens upon the line and trains are frequently held motionless for some time at that place!”

“You’ve got it!” I declared, sipping at my coffee.

“So far, so far. I broke in and examined Kamenev’s papers. He was soon on the cusp of leaving to dispose of his ill-begotten booty. I wanted to draw in the thief as well. With his papers, I found a series of newspaper clippings from the agony column, signed by a party named Peter. I quickly got a new entry out to that same agony column: _Tonight, same hour, same place, two taps. Most vitally important, your own safety at stake. Peter_.”

After our light dinner, we set out to watch 13 Eugengarten. An hour passed, and yet another. When eleven struck, the measured beat of a church clock sounded. Holmes raised his head with a sudden jerk.

“There they are,” he said.

There had been a figure knocking with two sharp taps at the door to 13 Eugengarten. The door soon opened and the gas in the hall that could be seen was a mere point of light. We sprang out from our hiding places and followed closely behind the person who was walking in. The man who opened the door saw us with a cry of surprise, grabbed the other person and pulled them inside. It was too late though, we had gotten through. The man produced a derringer and pointed it towards Holmes but I produced the crowbar and struck the man’s arm viciously, following it up by pointing the revolver that Holmes asked me to bring at him. With a shock, there was a woman’s scream and I pointed the barrel of the gun at none other than Valentine Bougainvillea.

Holmes whistled in surprise.

“You can type me down as an ass, Violet.” Holmes declared. “This was not who I expected.”

“Dietfried’s sister. How a woman could behave in such a vile way is beyond me!” I snarled.

“Your whole correspondence and relations with Kamenev are within our knowledge. So are also the circumstances connected with Albrecht Westen. Let me advise you that it would be easier for you to repent and confess since there are still some details which we can only learn from you two.”

Kamenev groaned as Valentine sank her face in her hands.

“I can assure you that we know the essentials. We know that you were pressed for money, Miss Bougainvillea; that you took an impress of your brother’s keys and you entered into correspondence with Kamenev, who answered your letters through the agony column. You went to the Arsenal in the fog on Montag night, but you were seen and followed by Westen, who had probably some previous reason to suspect you. He saw your theft, but could not give the alarm as it was just as possible that you were taking the papers to your brother in Leiden. He followed you closely until he reached this house. And then it was, Miss Bougainvillea that you added murder to treason.”

“I did not!” The wretched woman yelled. “ I swear it, I did not!”

“Then how did Westen meet his end before you laid him on the roof of a train car?”

“I will swear that I did that, I confess it, as well as the theft. Gambling debts had to be paid. I needed the money badly. I could not go to my brother! Kamenev offered me ten thousand. It was to save myself from ruin. But as far as murder, I did not do it!”

“What happened, then?” Holmes asked.

“I came here as I did before and Kamenev came to the door. The clerk rushed up and demanded to know what we were about to do with the papers. As the clerk forced his way after us into the house, Kamenev struck him on the head with a sap. The blow was a fatal one. He was dead within minutes. He laid in the hall and we were at our wit’s end. Kamenev had this idea about the trains which stopped under his back window. First he looked at the papers and decided to keep the three essential ones. Then he placed the other seven with the clerk’s body to deter suspicion. We waited a half an hour before the next train stopped and we lowered his body onto the train. That was the end of it.”

“And Dietfried?”

“He said nothing but he caught me once with his keys. I think he suspected something, I could see it in his eyes. That was likely why he fell into shock.” the woman explained.

And so, it is a matter of history, that secret history of a nation which is often more interesting than what the public record shows, that Kamenev and Miss Bougainvillea, eager to complete the naval intelligence coup and sale of their lifetime, came to the lure and found themselves engulfed for fifteen years in prison. In Kamenev’s trunk were the three missing pages, which he was prepared to put up for auction. As to Holmes and I, he suggested after reviewing my scribblings upon his typewriter that I keep it, sending me with it away to study under Ms. Rhodanthe to learn how to type in the professional manner of the Auto Memory Doll.


	5. The Adventure of the Shaher Observatory

In the intervening time since first meeting Sherlock Holmes, I had found my vocation as an Auto Memories Doll, attached to the CH Postal Company. But when work was done, I found myself returning home to 221B Bacher Street. With Holmes’ approval, I had sent off accounts of the cases that we worked together on to be published in  _ Die Strasse _ and found that supplementing my income even further. Soon my reputation as both a writer and an Auto Memory Doll rose to where I found myself being requested for service even outside of the country. As my oath states: I will travel anywhere to meet your request.

In this case I had been requested to travel to the southwest into Astrea, specifically to the Shaher Astronomical Headquarters. Holmes was off and away on a case that he stated needed his sole attention, so I was free to take on the duty. After an unremarkable journey, I found myself among other Auto Memory Dolls, both independent contractors and those from other companies. We were all gathered together by the headmaster, Mr. Hilton Verrier and given our collective task. He was a tall, yet fat man with blonde hair and a trimmed mustache. Our assignment as Dolls was to operate our typewriters while paired with a student who had the ability to translate from many old volumes which were in a tremendously delicate state. I was paired with a rather dour boy named Leon Stephanotis.

He might have reminded me of Holmes, had he any of Holmes’ redeeming qualities. Blunt and dismissive of women, he seemed to treat me more like his personal secretary than a partner. But I soon had a new task put before me that pushed my misgivings there aside. On one evening, Mr. Verrier asked me to visit him in his office. He had a nervous and excitable temperament about himself normally, but on this occasion he was in such a state of uncontrolled agitation that it was clear something unusual occurred.

“I hope that you can spare me a few hours of your valuable time, Miss Evergarden. We have had a very painful incident here and really if it had not been for you being here by chance, I should have been at a loss as to what to do.” Mr. Verrier declared.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“For the credit of the observatory, it is essential to avoid scandal. Your connection to Sherlock Holmes is as well known as your ability as an Auto Memory Doll and I think you are the one person in the world who can help me at this given time. One particular document was in such despairing condition to where I was going to choose a particular team to work upon it. We have a reputation of taking great care of our manuscripts, so great care is to be taken to keep this secret. At three o’clock this afternoon, the book was brought up and I was performing my assessment. At four-thirty, I was not finished but I promised to go to lunch with a colleague, so I left the manuscript here. I was gone for no more than an hour.” Verrier explained. “The doors here are doubled. There is a green outer door leading here as you have seen, and a heavy oak door leading here. When I came to the outer door, I found a key in it! I thought I might have left my own there, but it was in my pocket. The only other was my assistant Rampe, a man who has looked after my office here for ten years, and who is absolutely above suspicion. The key was in fact his, and he had come in to see if I wanted refreshment, and he accidentally left his key in the door when he came out. He must have just missed me. Generally this would have been fine but today, it was the worst of timing. The moment I looked at my desk, I noticed that someone had rummaged through the book. It was just about free from its binding in three long sections, and they were in order. One set was lying on the floor, one was on the side table near the window, and the third was the only one sitting on the binding.”

“The first set in the actual order on the floor, the second in the window and the third on the binding, in fact.” I said. That evoked a surprised look from Verrier, who grew more animated.

“Amazing! How could you have known that, Miss Evergarden?” Verrier asked. I ignored the question and pressed him to continue.

“For a moment I thought Rampe had done the deed but he denied it and I am convinced he was being truthful. The other thought was that someone saw the key and entered to look at the manuscript. There was a small sum of money involved, a sort of scholarship for the student I was going to choose, and someone might as well run the risk in order to gain an advantage over the others. Rampe was very much upset by the incident. While I let him sit in a chair, I examined the office. I found that the intruder left other signs of their presence. On the table in the window were pencil shavings and a broken tip of lead. On my writing table, which is new with a leather surface, there is a clean cut of about three inches in length. Finally, there was a small ball of black dough or clay on the table. No footprints or any other evidence. I was stressed until the happy thought occurred to me that you were here and I figured you might have had some insight from Holmes’ methods. This will ensue a scandal which will throw a cloud on the observatory, and I want to settle it quietly.”

“I will look into it and give you advice as I can.” My shoulders slumped. “Has anyone visited your office after the manuscript came to you?”

“One of the students who lives on this same floor asked me particulars about the manuscript he was working on.”

“And this new manuscript was on your table?”

“Closed.”  
“But recognisable possibly?”  
“Yes.”

“No one else was in your room?”  
“No.”  
“Did anyone know that this special manuscript would be rampethere?”

“No, including Rampe.”

“Where is he now?”

“The issue seemed to cause him to become ill. I left him there with instructions to keep everything as it was if he remained.”

“Might I examine the office myself?”

“Certainly, Miss Evergarden.”

I looked almost immediately at the carpet, but didn’t find any signs of footprints, mud or anything of the likes there. I looked to the little table, then to the window that it was close to.

“The student entered and took the sections from your desk, over to this table because he could see if you were coming from the outside by way of the courtyard so that he could escape.”

“He could not have! I came from the interior doors here.” Verrier said.

“Well, that’s fine. That was in his mind though. Let me see the three pieces.” I said, kneeling down beside the set on the floor. “This one was carried over first and copying began. It might have taken a half an hour. Then he tossed it down and took the next one, close to completing it when you began to return. He made a very hasty retreat. You didn’t hear anything as you entered here?”

“I did not!”

“Well his copying had so much urgency to where he broke his pencil at one point and had to sharpen it, with a large and blunt knife.” I said before moving the table to where it was in the light. “No trace of any impressions on this surface.” I put it back and then moved to the central table, looking at the mass. A small pellet, black and doughy in shape. As for the cut on the table, it was a definite scratch, ending in a jagged hole. I looked around and saw another door. “Where does that lead to?”

“To my bedroom.”

“Have you been in it since?”

“Not at all.”

“Might I look around?”

“If it would help.”

I entered the room and didn’t see anything at first on the floor. The bed seemed to sit too low to allow anyone to hide underneath it, and there was a wardrobe but it was too shallow. There was in fact a curtain for a closet and upon drawing it back, there was in fact a space large enough for a person. There was nothing there except for four suits hanging from pegs. I knelt down to the floor and found another deposit of that black putty-like material.

“So, he was in fact here as well, Headmaster.”

“Why?”

“You came back in an unexpected way and he had to conceal himself here.” I concluded.

“So this whole time while talking to Rampe, the boy was there the whole time?!”

“That is how I understand it.”

“How many students would be in the habit of passing by your outer door?” I asked.

“Three,” Verrier said.

“How many were for consideration of this special task?” I asked.

“Two. One you know, Leon. He is quiet and inscrutable, well up in his work, steady and methodical. Then there is Kyle Zoenig, a fine scholar and athlete, an excellent mountain climber and long jumper.”

“Very well then.” I rose up and began to stride out. “I think I might be able to sew this up rather nicely, if you will allow me a little bit of time.”

I returned back to my room with Leon and found him looking out the window.

“Might I borrow your knife for a moment?” I asked.

“Why?” he asked.

“I need to sharpen a pencil.”

With a low sigh, Leon produced a folding pocket knife, adominishing me to be careful with it, for he kept it regularly sharp. After a quick whittle, I returned it to him before taking up a small writing pad, scribbling nonsense upon it until my hands caused the tip to break. I decided to stow the pencil away and then took a small walking tour around the grounds, noticing the small athletic field with a pit of black clay. Kneeling down before it, I reached in and picked up pieces of clay, slowly crushing them in my hands, watching them crumble before my eyes.

The next morning, I met with the headmaster. He could hardly stand still and when I came in, he rose up with his arms outstretched.

“Have you found who did it?”

“Yes, sir. Call for Rampe if you would.” I requested.

Rampe came in and shrank back at the sight of me.

“Now then, I’ve taken the liberty of requesting Zoenig’s presence here.”

A few moments later, a brown-haired, brown eyed young man, with a springy step and a normally pleasant face. He looked to me, then Verrier and then finally looked with dismay upon Rampe.

“Now then, we are all alone here and no one else needs to know what we spoke about. I want to know why you snuck into Verrier’s office yesterday.” I said.

The unfortunate young man looked with reproach at Rampe.

“I never said a word!” the assistant cried out.

“But you have now, and now after that reaction your only chance is in confessing the matter.” I declared. “If not that perhaps I could say what occurred and you can correct me where I am wrong.” I looked to Verrier. “From the time you told me that no one could have known the manuscript was here, I could rule out the archivist by default. I could also rule out Leon because his knife was far too sharp where the one in question was blunt. How did he know the manuscript was here though? When I looked in here, I examined the window. He had to have seen the manuscript plainly through the window. I could not do it at my height, Leon either. Zoenig however  _ is _ tall enough. You also mentioned that he was an athlete, so this is how things came into being. He was practicing his jump, he was carrying his cleats which were spiked. While passing the window, he saw the manuscript and determined what they were by guessing. When inside he also noticed Rampe’s key and he decided to sneak inside. Then he decided to begin the copying process, putting his shoes on the table. He thought he would see Verrier by way of the main way. But Verrier took the side way. He took his shoes, which is where the scratch comes from on the table. And in the entire process, the clay from the athletic ground pit was dislodged. Am I correct so far?”

Zoenig drew himself up to full height.

“I’m afraid you are correct, Miss Evergarden. But I was planning to inform Mr. Verrier that I did not wish to do the work anyways.” He pointed to Rampe. “He set me towards stepping down from the prospect.”

“Why?” Verrier asked.

“Well, when I came into the room when the alarm was given the boy came out and confessed to the deed. Wasn’t it natural that I should make him understand that he could not profit from it?” Rampe explained.

“I suppose not.” I clasped my hands behind my back. “I think I cleared your little problem up, so if there is nothing else, I have my regular line of work to return to.”

While I was finishing my work, I received two notes from Holmes, dated from Genetrix and I also read about an upcoming peace settlement between Gardarik and  Leidenschaftlich. I had assumed from his notes that he would be away for some time, so it was with some surprise therefore when he came into the CH Postal Company upon my return. He was looking even paler and thinner than usual.

“I have been using myself up rather too freely,” Holmes admitted, in answer to the inquiring look I gave him. “I have been a little pressed as of late. Have you any objection to closing the shutters?”

The only light in the room we were in came from a lamp. Holmes edged his way around the wall and flung the shutters together to bolt them.

“Are you afraid of something?” I asked.

“Yes, of air guns. I think you know me well enough to understand that I am by no means a nervous man. At the same time it is stupidity rather than courage to refuse to recognise danger when it is close.” He struck a match and lit a cigarette. “I must apologise for calling so late here, but I will have to leave through the back way here without anyone being made the wiser.” He held out his hand and I saw that two of his knuckles were burst and bleeding. “Are you engaged right now?”

“Not at all.” I answered.

“Then it makes it easier for me to propose that you should come away with me out of the country to watch over our dear Captain Bougainvillea and his peace entourage.” he suggested. There was something very strange in all of this. Something about his pale, worn face told me that his nerves were at the highest tension. Putting his fingertips together, he asked me one question.

“You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?”

“Never,” I answered.


	6. The Final Problem Of Violet Evergarden

“There’s the genius of the whole thing!” Holmes declared in the attic of the CH Postal Company. “The man pervades Leiden, and no one has heard of him. That’s what puts him on the top of the mountain in the records of crime. I tell you Violet, if I could beat that man, I should be prepared to retire. Between ourselves, the recent cases in which I have been of assistance to the royal family in Drossel and Genetrix have left me in such a position where I could live quietly and concentrate my efforts upon other issues. But I cannot rest while a man like Professor James Moriarty walks the streets unchallenged.”

“What has he done?” I asked.

“His career has been extraordinary. He is a man of excellent rearing and education, with a natural grasp for mathematics. He wrote a treatise on the Binomial Theorem which got him the mathematics chair at a smaller university in the country, and had a brilliant career before him. But a criminal strain ran in the blood too, made more dangerous by his mental abilities. He resigned his chair after some dark rumors came about and came to Leiden as an army mathematics coach for officers. There is no one who knows the higher criminal world of Leiden so well as I do. There has been some deep organising power that shields certain wrong-doers. For forgeries, robberies, murders and other things, I have felt the presence of this power. I followed the string that unraveled from its veil to him. A genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker with a brain of the first order. Motionless like the spider in the center of its web, a web stretching over the country. If a bug quivers upon it, he knows of it. He never commits directly, he only plans. If there’s something to be done, the Professor is given the word, he organises it and his agents carry the item out. You might catch the agent but the central power which used him never is endangered. Until now, he made one little trip that was more than he could afford. Now he is desperate, especially with the net closing around him. The principal members of his gang will be in the hands of Lestrade and I know what he plans to do next. He plans to create chaos by threatening the peace summit in three days. But if we get him, it will be the greatest criminal trial of the century, the clearing up of over forty mysteries and the rope for every person involved.”

“But he saw the threat you presented,” I surmised. “You’ve been threatened?”

“He came today, standing before me in our rooms.” Holmes explained “I had a bit of a start seeing the very man who was the object of my investigations. He is extremely tall and thin with a domed forehead and sunken eyes. Clean-shaven, simple looking, one would think he was a professor or tutor with how he looked. His face protrudes forward and oscillates from side to side like a reptile. He looked at me with much curiosity.

‘You have less frontal development than I would have expected’ he had said. ‘It is a dangerous habit to hold a loaded firearm in the pocket of one’s dressing gown.’ I was covering him this whole time through that pocket, but at his remark I laid it upon the table. He did nothing but smile and blink.

‘You don’t know me apparently.’ he said.

‘On the contrary,’ I had told him. ‘I think it is fairly evident that I do. I can spare you five minutes.’

‘All that I have to say has already crossed your mind,’ he had retorted.

‘Then my answer crossed yours.’ I countered.

‘You stand fast?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely.’ I answered.

He had withdrawn a memorandum book and opened it up to read from notes.

‘You crossed my path on the 4th of Januar, on the 23rd you incommoded me; by the middle of February, severely inconvenienced by you, at the end of Marz my plans hampered and now, I find myself placed in such a position through your persecution that I am in danger of losing my liberty. The situation is impossible. You must drop it, you really must you know. It is necessary that you should withdraw. It would be a major grief to have to take any extreme measure against you.’

‘Danger is part of my trade.’ I had said.

‘It is inevitable destruction. You stand in the way of a mighty organisation, the gravity of it with all of your clever ways, you have not been able to realise. You must stand aside or be trodden under foot. I will never stand in the dock, you will never beat me. If you are clever enough to somehow bring destruction upon me, rest assured I will do the same to you.’

‘You have paid me compliments, Mister Moriarty. Let me pay you one in return. If I am assured of the former, I would in the interest of the public accept the latter.’ I snapped. And soon after he had left-”

“You were attacked?” I asked.

“Moriarty is not a man who lets things sit idle. I went out about midday today. A two-horse van nearly ran me down. Then later as I walked, a brick came down from a roof and shattered at my feet. I spent the day with Mycroft at the Diogenes Club. And on my way here I was attacked with a bludgeon. The police have him, but no possible connection will be made between him and the professor. You will understand now why I wanted to close the shutters and leave out some other exit.” 

As he checked off the series of incidents, it seemed more like a day of horror than a grocery list as it sounded from him.

“Won’t you stay here then?” I asked.

“No, Violet, you and the company would find me a dangerous guest. I have my plans laid for the peace envoy and all will be well. That’s his object after all, if he disposes of me in the interim, it will be a bonus.” Holmes advised.

“I will tell Hodgins, I would be glad to come, starting in the morning!” I declared.

“Then these are your instructions, and I know you will obey them to the letter for you are playing a double-handed game against the most powerful syndicate of criminals on the Continent. Any luggage you take would go by trusted messenger unaddressed to Wilhelm Station tonight. In the morning, you will send for a cab, but not the first or second one that comes. In the third, you will drive to the Strasse end of the Arcade, giving the address on a paper, asking that he does not throw it away. Have your fare ready, and the moment he stops, dash through the Arcade to where you get to the other side at 9:15. You will find a smaller cab waiting, driven by a man with a heavy black cloak tipped at the collar with red. Into this you will come and you will reach Wilhelm Station in time to rendezvous with us.”

“Where shall I meet you?” I asked.

“At the station. The second first-class carriage from the front.” Holmes explained.

I was not able to convince him to stay. With a few hurried words, he came out to the back and left while I had stayed overnight. In the morning, I obeyed his instructions to the letter. I was driven to the Arcade and hurried at the top of my speed into the indicated cab, with the massive driver wrapped in his cloak. Once I stepped in, he had whipped up the horse and rattled off to Wilhelm Station. As soon as I was out, he took off without any other word.

Everything went admirably, my luggage was waiting for me and I was able to find the carriage which Holmes had indicated. But the problem was that there was no sign of Holmes and it was only seven minutes until departure. There was no sign of him, but there was a strange priest who was placed in the carriage with me. With a shrug, I looked out the window anxiously for Holmes. Fear came over me, as I thought his absence meant that something happened to him overnight. The whistle blew as the train pulled away, when-

“My dear Violet,” said a voice. “You have not even said good-morning.”

I looked in astonishment. The priest looked towards me. The wrinkles smoothed away, the nose drew away and the lower lip ceased to jut out and the speaker no longer mumbled. I was looking directly at Sherlock Holmes.

“And now we travel towards the new intercontinental line. It brings peace, food and resources throughout. Once this agreement is made, the gun will be replaced with the coin.” Holmes said. He rifled through papers. “Mycroft says that there were fires lit along the route outside of the country, seven in all. Possible signs of explosions as well.”

“Moriarty’s work?” I asked.

“There is also intelligence about a possible splinter faction in the Galdrikian Army. They would likely be responsible, though they would likely be in league with Moriarty, providing the local talent.” Holmes explained. He rose up to his feet and opened the door to the inner corridor. “Come.”

Following Holmes in step, we moved towards the secured portion of the train where we were stopped by guards. To my surprise, I saw my fellow Auto Memory Doll Cattleya from CH Postal, who gaped at me in surprise. Holmes presented a pass to the guard, who passed it to another. Soon the looming figure of Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea filled the corridor. His eyes became fiery as he saw me.

“Intelligence has yielded the presence of explosions and smoke pillars. A possible attempt to delay the train.” Holmes explained. “A reconnaissance plane flying over Ctrigall radioed it in.”

“They’re going to attack us directly.” Dietfried rumbled. “Once it is confirmed to be safe to proceed ahead, we will leave our nearest stop as soon as possible. Now, get her off of my train.”

“But if there is danger, I can help!” My brow furrowed. “I just need orders.”

“So even now, you are still a tool that just wants to be given orders.” My fingers tightened within my gloves as anger filled my mind. But the tension was soon broken by a sharp backhand as Holmes struck the captain.

“Miss Evergarden is my assistant and I am working on behalf of the security service. You will speak to her as you would speak to me with the same deference and respect!” Holmes snapped acidly. He took my shoulder and gently urged me to follow him off and away back to our carriage.

As night drew near, we reviewed a map for a possible checkpoint, finding the Grandezza Bridge the most likely place. It took ten years to build that tunnel and bridge, if destroyed then the intercontinental railway would be out of commission for some time. There was a sudden lurch and a soft explosion that rattled up the train. Holmes looked out a window noticing that part of the train was off on another track. Holmes drew his revolver and gestured for us to leave. Captain Bougainvillea was pointing his gun at us, but then lowered it in confusion.

“I’ll go stop the train, protect the people inside.” The captain insisted.

“I understand, sir.” I said.

“Just like I said, you only want orders. All you are is a tool-” Bougainvillea persisted.

“That is enough!” Holmes snapped, pushing him aside. I thought I had heard people to the rear of the train, so I proceeded there. Upon seeing the door that would normally bridge to the next car open, I saw Galdrikian soldiers coming in. In fact one was quite familiar, and he recognised me. I kicked one man’s rifle out of his hand and then grabbed the familiar man by the neck.

“The maiden soldier of Leidenschaftlich. We meet again.” The man groaned, fidgeting behind his back. “What happened to that man in Ctrigall after that? Did he die a disgrace?” He produced a knife and stabbed me in the shoulder, but found it pinned into metal. I pulled it out and then raised the man up by the neck with both hands before throwing him down. I stepped out and climbed up to the roof of the car, after hearing several shots.

There were five men waiting there at the roof, the oldest with markings on himself suggesting him to be the senior person.

“The girl,” he had said to his men. “Go.”

Two rushed at me, but by ducking and kicking at my first attacker, I obtained an opportunity to slam my forearm into the other’s face, dropping them to the roof, still alive.

“Ah, I remember now. I’ve seen that on the battlefield before. The battle doll of Leidenschaftlich.” The senior man declared.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“In order to get back the people and things you have taken from us!” The officer insisted.

“Are you trying to start another war?” I asked.

“Do you honestly feel that the war ever ended?” he retorted. “It seems that you know what I am talking about. We’ve both had the memories of violence burned into us like scars.”

“But the war is over!” I insisted.

“We were betrayed and abandoned by everyone. So what is wrong with destroying everything?!” The man snapped.

I bowed down before the man, intent on not killing anyone. His confederates came at me, but this time I rushed to meet them. The first aimed his bayonet and stabbed at my right shoulder as I dove down and jabbed him in the chin with an elbow, uppercutting the one in the middle., toppling another in the process. One man was in danger of falling so I went down to get him, but found myself slashed across the back with a bayonet, tearing into my jacket and blouse. One of the men I had felled pointed his rifle at me and his shot barely grazed past my side. In the confusion I was hit in the face, then seized as my brooch came free. The officer grabbed it and held it before me mockingly.

“Is this important to you?” The officer asked with a growl. He drew his sabre from a scabbard and approached while raising it over his head. The next thing I knew, the train lurched as it began to brake and the officer’s balance wavered. A shot rang out as the man’s sword fell over the side. Five more shots rang out as the men holding me became dead weight, but low moans indicated they still lived. Sherlock Holmes held the officer by the scruff of his neck, his revolver’s barrel smoking.

He turned and shoved the officer into Dietfried’s waiting hands before scooping my brooch up, giving it to me. Once the train came to a stop, the officer laughed softly.

“You’re out of time. There is a bomb.” The man declared. Holmes clamored off of the train, disappearing. About three minutes later, there was a loud explosion in the water but the bridge remained intact. A few minutes passed but Holmes had not returned even though it seemed he had succeeded. In a tingle of fear, I was already leaping off of the train and making for the track that I saw him go off on. Lying on the track was his Alpine-stock, leaning against a truss. 

I shouted but only got my own echo. It was the sight of that Alpine-stock which turned me cold and sick. I stood for a moment to collect myself, for I was dazed with the horror of the thing. Applying his method, the Alpine-stock marked where he was last. I laid upon my face and peered over at the water. All I could see there was the glistening of the moon upon the broken water. I shouted again but only the same echo came back to my ears.

I looked and saw a gleam of something, finding his cigarette case. Sitting up against the truss to examine it, a small square of paper fluttered to the ground. Unfolding it, I found that it had three pages torn from his notebook, addressed to me. Despite the small amount of time it took him to write, it was as firm and clear as if he had written it in Bacher Street.

_ My dear Violet, _

_ I write these few lines through the courtesy of Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my final discussion of those questions that lie between us after I defused the bomb. He has been giving me a sketch of the methods by which he came into contact with the Galdrikian rebels, avoided the police and kept himself informed of our movements. I am pleased to think that I shall soon rid society from further effects of his presence. Though I fear it is at a cost which will give pain to you, my dear Violet. I have already explained that my career has reached its peak and there is no other way that it could end better than this. I was quite convinced that he was set to profit from the new war that would have sparked should this gone the other way. Tell Kriminalkomissar Lestrade that the papers which he needs to convict the gang are in pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelope and inscribed “Moriarty”. I made every disposition of my property before leaving Leidenschaftlich and handed it in equal parts to you and my brother Mycroft. Pray give my greetings to Mrs. Hudson, and believe me to be, my dear lady. _

_ Very sincerely yours, _

SHERLOCK HOLMES

An examination leaves little doubt that the two men fought and reeled over. Any attempt at recovering the bodies was absolutely hopeless, and deep down under that bridge, will lie for all time the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law in our generation. As to the gang, the public will know how completely the evidence Holmes accumulated laid upon them with his dead hand as I type it, I am compelled to write about the peace he had preserved between Galdriki and Leidenschaftlich, and of the man himself whom I shall ever regard as the best and wisest one, next to the Major whom I have ever known. 


	7. Post-Scriptum

After returning from the peace summit, I must admit that I was at one of the lowest points in my life. First I had lost the Major, now Sherlock Holmes. As promised in his letter though, I found myself the owner of our rooms at 221B Bächer Street. Holmes had paid Mrs. Hudson a respectable sum for it, and that ownership had been transferred to me along with the contents of those rooms. At first I lazed about, leaving everything as it was, considering the idea of disturbing his things anathema. Holmes however were he in my position, would have continued working. We shared that seemingly insensitive and carefree impression about high-strung emotion.

Only there were times that the façade of an automaton-like detachment slipped for him. In the “Adventure of the Yellow Face” for instance, even he could not help but to smile at Grant Munro’s kindness towards his wife and his soon-to-be stepdaughter upon the discovery of the latter. Taking after his example though, I immersed myself in work but not of that of the Auto Memory Doll. Instead I started reading Holmes’ monographs and even began to audit classes at the University of Leidenschaftlich. I would travel around the city, taking in every minute detail, cataloguing it. Soon I could navigate around the city without aid. 

It would not be long until I had the opportunity to try my hand at amateur sleuthing in “The Case of the Empty House”. A young aristocrat named Ronald Adler found that his partner in cards, the big-game hunter and notorious secret lieutenant of Professor James Moriarty, Colonel Sebastian Moran, was cheating and killed him at a distance with a specially modified air-gun to prevent him from revealing his treachery. Through carefully planted misinformation and a waxwork effigy, I laid a trap for Moran for he still felt inclined towards avenging his dead employer at the first thought that Holmes was still alive. The last of the dreaded Moriarty gang had his “i” dotted and his “t” crossed. 

Today I had taken my usual stroll about when at a point I accidentally struck against an elderly man and scattered his books. Despite my apologies and helping him both to his feet and to regather his volumes, he turned on his heel with contempt and took off. Having returned to Bächer Street, it had not been more than five minutes when Mrs. Hudson advised me that there were two men there to see me. To my astonishment, it was the same man that I had knocked over, sharp wizened face peering out at me.

“You are surprised to see me, miss?” he said in a strange, croaking voice. I acknowledged his statement with a nod.

“Well I have a conscience, ma’am and when I chanced to see you go into this house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to myself, I’ll just step in and see that kind lady and tell her that if I was a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm meant, and that I am much obliged to her for picking up my books.” He continued.

“You make too much of a trifle.” I said, waving my hand. “How did you come to find me?”

“I live down the street, you’ll find my little bookshop down on the corner. As a matter of fact there was also a young gentleman who was looking for directions here as well. Hm, it seems you collect yourself, but perhaps I have something that could fill that gap on the second shelf. It looks untidy, does it not?”

I moved my head and looked over at the cabinet but then once I looked back at the man, Sherlock Holmes was standing before me, smiling. He gestured for the figure behind him to step in and to my astonishment, I also saw Major Gilbert Bougainvillea. I gaped at both in utter amazement, and must have fainted as I woke up on the couch with the tingling after-taste of brandy in my mouth, Holmes and the Major standing over me, the Major’s flask in his hand.

“My dear Violet,” said Holmes. “I owe you a thousand apologies, I had no idea that you would be so affected.”

I sat up and grasped both of their arms.

“Major, Sherlock. It’s really you.” I cried. “You’re both alive!” I looked to Holmes. “But how! I was certain you were lost in the river! And you, Major-”

“Wait a moment, are you sure you are fit to discuss things? I gave you quite a shock there.” Holmes said.

“I’m all right, but I can hardly believe my eyes to see the two of you standing here in my study. Both of you, sit down and tell me your stories!” He sat opposite of me and produced cigarettes, one which he gave the Major and the two shared a match to light.

“Well then, about the water. I had no serious doubts about getting out of it because I was never in it. Though, my note to you was genuine. I was certain that my career was in fact ended once Moriarty went over the side. He thought he had me, both of us tottering towards the edge but my advantage was in slipping through his grip thanks to some wrestling that I had learned. He fell a long way, struck off a rock and hit the water. I slipped in between tracks though and hid myself on one of the support columns, for I knew he had to have a confederate watching at some point. Surely enough once your train had left, a man did appear, searching the bridge. At one point he saw me and fired several shots, so I scrambled further down the support and dove into the water to swim. I was gouged and bleeding from rocks but I soon found myself safe. After getting to safety, I procured clothing and made my way through Galdriki.”

“And that’s where our paths had crossed.” Gilbert broke in, taking a slow drag. “I was in a prisoner camp for some time, I refused to tell them who I was in fear of being ransomed or tortured for further information. But Holmes had found his way to my camp by masquerading as a local priest. On finding and identifying me, the first thing he did was assure me that you were all right. Then he planned an escape for us all, we broke out and made our way into the wilderness. Holmes and I however traveled together to recuperate.”

“And we were both considering how we might catch out the last man in Moriarty’s gang once we returned to Leidenschaftlich, only to read about the Park Lane Mystery in which you successfully resolved. The young lady has acquitted herself well.” Holmes beamed. “I truly consider my career at an end, but I believe there is a new consulting detective here in Leiden whose career has just begun. In fact, I was hoping that you might still have the other room-“

“Well of course you can come back-“ I started but Holmes shook his head.

“For the Major until he’s fully reestablished. I still have a good deal of traveling that I wish to undertake and afterwards, perhaps I would retire to the country. My brother Mycroft says that once the Major is well, he can see about re-establishing his commission, or securing him other work that might be suitable for him.” Holmes said. “But-“ He rose to his feet. “I will remain in touch, always.” I rose in turn and embraced him.

“You and the Major will always be family to me.” I said.

”And you will always be the sister Mycroft and I never had.” Holmes said in turn. “Now then, I believe we have another problem before us, where shall we have our luncheon?”


End file.
